


You

by WindStainedDreams



Series: The Pronoun Verse [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alchemy, Alchemy & Magic, Blood, Gen, Gore, Magic, Orphans, POV Second Person, Prejudice Against Magic, Sibling Death, Weird Headspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindStainedDreams/pseuds/WindStainedDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Sometimes, on the long days spent travelling away from others, you lift your head to talk to a companion who is not there.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>There never was one there. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	You

You step out on to the landing and close the study door behind you. You sigh as you go down the stone stairs, oblivious to the unprotected drop to death should you step too far to the side. The hollow spiral staircase has no railing, and you are at the top of the Tower. 

You have not looked back since it happened. You still cannot believe it has. It is an eternity away from you, but everyone else in the world feels mere moments of the past flow by. 

You are still stunned and do not look up as others finally start to pass you by on their trips around the Tower. At first only a few, then more as you continue to descend. Few go beyond the lower levels of the Tower, and you notice you are nearing your destination only after people are almost always surrounding you. You cannot wait to leave this place. 

To you, the others make no sound as you drift to the Entrance Hall, and the doors that stand forever closed to the outside world. There should be noise loud enough to echo all along the walls of the Hall, straight to the top of the Tower, but you hear nothing. You do not know of the whispers behind you, nor will you ever. 

You step out, the afternoon daylight blinding you after the torches of the dark Tower. The doors that should never open have been opened for you. The Master has let you leave unharmed. The doors are heavy and slam closed behind you. You do not respond to the noise. You look up only long enough to draw a breath - to sigh once more. You move down the steps slowly, in a daze. You walk as if you cannot see what is around you, but you never touch anything but the ground. Your steps are sure and steady. If someone could see your eyes, they would show that your heart was not so calm. Your mind is still locked inside the Tower, even as your body carries you away. 

You look back once; your gaze is turned to a window high up in the Tower. There, although nowhere else, is there light and life in the Tower. The others you had passed had all left long ago from where you had seen them. You seem troubled by something but then move on. You set your gaze forward and do not move it again. 

You are carrying an old, brown suitcase over your shoulder. To others, it looks uncomfortable, but it is the only way you have ever carried it, the back of your hand against your shoulder, fingers wrapped around the handle. Your dark brown cloak has seen many things during its wondrous travels, but it looks like you could benefit from a new one. Your black clothing is torn in places and is too small for you. Your grey-green eyes have deep shadows around them. Your long, red-gold hair is in a braid, hidden by the hood pulled low to cast your face in shadow. You appear not so young that others may mistake you for a child but not old enough for them to respect your age either. Yet no matter how bedraggled you are you seem to know what you are doing with your life. 

You walk neither slowly, nor quickly, but at your own pace down the path from the Tower. It weaves through the trees of the Forest, and although most prefer to leave and entre the Tower using the Arts, you have no choice but to use the Path, because you are too drained to use them. The Forest acts as a guardian for those in the Tower and the Tower itself, keeping the ordinary folk away; a dark place in the heart of the city, it even deters those that use the Arts from entering using the Path. 

Once, you pause and look up, as if to talk to someone. But there is no one beside you. Whatever comments you would have made, you swallow as you look at the ground and continue down the winding path. 

You did not even notice me when you walked past the tree I was using to hide myself. 

You walk along the path, now brisk and determined. You go around a bend and lose sight of the Tower doors behind you. You can soon hear the sounds of the city, still shielded from sight by the Forest. You approach the End Gate warily. The city folk have no love for those who walk the Path of the Tower or it’s Woods. With no one around the End Gate, you slip out and mingle with the people further away, becoming just another person in the crowd. You waste no time and leave. 

Out of the city, across the border, always on foot you travel. You never return. You visit many places, crossing many borders, but you never stay. Never. You acquire a new cloak; you buy new clothes, new boots. Your old suitcase is the one thing that you will not discard. It has seen everything you have and contains all your memories. No one has ever seen the contents, no one but you. It is the most important thing you have left in your life. You wander, but you never stay in one place, and you never return to where you have been before. 

And sometimes, on the long days spent travelling away from others, you lift your head to talk to a companion who is not there. 

There never was one there. 

You rarely speak. You never tell anyone anything about yourself. You never tell anyone your name, your age, where you come from, where you intend to go. They do not need to know. They are not important. Few people have ever even seen you twice, and no one ever travels with you. 

Your demeanour usually prevents questions anyway. Whenever someone does gain the courage to ask about you, your travels or your past, you say nothing. Your silence reveals only that you refuse to discuss the topic. You never tell them that your father left when you were so young that all you have left of him is a picture blurred by age, holding you as an infant in his arms. You never tell anyone about the mysterious illness that suddenly killed your mother, but no one else in the village, when you were only slightly older. 

You never talk about the day your brother died. How that day in the Tower, everything went wrong, and the only thing you can do now is try and run from it all. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_You had been together all your lives, always and in everything. You had studied alchemy and the sciences together, magic and medicine, keeping it a secret from the rest of the village because those Arts were discouraged then. Those in power wanted to ensure they remained that way. Only one had ever succeeded in defying them openly, and the stories were legendary. When your brother had wanted to talk to the Master of the Tower to ask him questions about the Arts, you had been unsettled. You had refused to let him go alone, even if he had been older and had been able to take care of himself. After all, the legends often ended favouring only the Master’s plans._

_You had arrived together in the Tower, using the alchemy you had spent your lives perfecting. No one in your village had known you were leaving, let alone where you were going. It would have been too dangerous for you to tell anyone. But your brother had been expected by the Master, waiting for him in his study at the Tower’s top._

_While they had talked, you had stayed outside the Master’s study. You knew that your brother had wanted something, although you knew not what. You did not fully believe your brother was only interested in ancient texts; you thought it might be more. Something to do with your dream, the one you had shared since childhood. The one that was too perilous to ever come true, and that you had believed had been given up many years ago by the both of you. The Tower had seemed hollow and empty, and it had disturbed you not to see your brother in front of you, to not be with him...to feel alone in the darkness._

_You had never even known anything was wrong, until you had heard the screaming. It had terrified you. The next thing you knew, your brother had died. The study door had opened on its own, letting you in to see your brother one last time before you had left in your daze._

_You cannot remember how long you knelt there on the cold stone floor, slowly made warm with blood and the life-heat being drained from you, staring at the remains of your brother’s body. There had been few recognizable pieces left – a piece of cloth from his favourite coat, the melted bones of his left foot. It had looked as if he had been blown apart from the inside by some incredible, unimaginable force. You had not been able to stand the sight of what remained of your elder brother, but you had not been able to bear leaving either._

_You had not been able to stay in the Tower for much longer, and you had left eventually in your dazed, powerless rage._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You look up now, finally, after ten years of looking only at the ground beneath your feet. You cannot believe that you have returned. You have never returned before. Never have you visited the same place twice. Why now? 

You know the reason. You realize you knew all along that you would be back. You need what your brother tried to get, now more than ever. You hate yourself for coming back. You do not want to set foot in that Tower and betray your brother’s memory. He had tried to protect you from this. But you will, you have to; because you now know what it was he had wanted to achieve by coming here all those years ago. 

You climb, up the steps this time. You are oblivious to the sudden drop to death should you step even once too far to the side. There is still no railing to save you from the fall. There is no sound but your steps against the stone and your breathing echoing in the empty darkness. Your mind forms the same words you had said a decade before, but this time no one is there to hear you speak them. 

You reach your destination. You knock. When he tells you to enter, you do. He is expecting you, much as he had expected your brother. The study door is heavy, reminding you of the great doors at the bottom of the Tower when you last were here. You meet the Master’s eyes, defiant of the smirk he is wearing. You have come to apprentice in the Tower. You will do anything for him, give anything; and he wants all you had, have or will ever have. Your complete obedience. Your complete dedication. Your body. Your mind. Your life. Your soul. You. You realize vaguely in some distant corner of your mind that this is why your brother failed. He was not you.

You stay in the Tower for countless years, although you cannot feel them pass. Time means nothing to you, you do not age now. You cannot leave the Tower or the Forest, although they are yours now, and the old Master is gone. It is your stronghold and your prison, your home and your cell. None dare disturb you here. They fear too much and you do not need to leave to accomplish your goals. You have what your brother was seeking, but still it is not enough for what you had both desired to do since childhood. 

You are a god, and you do not care.


End file.
